Catching a Runaway Bride
by TheSapphireSky
Summary: Forced into an arranged marriage, Molly must choose between her heart... and freedom.
1. Catching a Runaway Bride

**AN: A quick drabble I needed to get down and out into the world before I second guessed myself. Enjoy, loves! :) Oh, and please ignore any mistakes, I wrote this waaay too fast!**

The first time she saw him, she was hiding around the corner as her parents welcomed the Holmes family into their small, cozy home. His black curls swept over his prominent forehead, drawing her eyes toward his sharp cheekbones and regal profile.

He greeted her parents with a polite bow and, when he straightened, immediately looked past them and straight at her.

Gasping, Molly jerked her head back around the corner. Her heart raced; his eyes were piercing and she swore she'd never seen a more intriguing man.

Perhaps this marriage arrangement would be tolerable after all.

* * *

Their courtship was brief, for Lord and Lady Holmes were desperate to marry their obstinate son to a woman who would, in vain hope, tame his more unsavory habits. And the Hoopers were burdened by their daughter's continuing spinsterhood. An advantageous marriage for both parties.

Three months after their first, disastrous, meeting in which her betrothed had proceeded to publicly declare all her detractions and faults to her complete humiliation, Molly found herself staring at the reflection of a stranger.

The stranger wore the same ivory wedding gown as Molly and had the same brown hair, pert nose, and thin lips. But there was no smile on her face. No sparkle in her plain brown eyes.

Whatever pieces of her spirit that had made her _Molly_ had been slowly crushed by the varying disdain and indifference in her future husband's gaze as she fell in love with him. Now, instead of a joyous occasion, this day bore down on her with oppression, promising a future of unhappiness and a broken heart.

'You look lovely, my dear,' her mother crooned, placing the crown of flowers on Molly's head.

A tear fell down her cheek. Mistakenly believing it to be a tear of happiness, Molly's mother simply beamed and moved away to put the final touches on the bouquet.

'I... I'd like a moment alone, mother,' Molly said quietly, pressing her hands to her stomach, fearing the roiling fear and nerves would positively make her faint. 'Please.'

'Of course, dear.' Her mother pressed a kiss to her cheek and left, turning back just before she closed the door. 'Your father will come to get you in a few minutes.'

The moment the door clicked shut, Molly flew across the room and slammed the bolt into place, locking it and tossing the flower crown to the floor.

Leaning back against the door, she breathed deeply and tried to quell the panic rising inside. What was she going to do? She couldn't go through with this.

She couldn't marry Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

It was easy enough to climb out the window and dropped the few feet to the veranda. Her bare feet barely made a sound on the stone pavers as she lifted her gown and fled across the lawn. The sound of laughter and voices faded the further she ran.

She didn't know where she was going or what she was going to do when she got there, but with every step she felt freer than she'd felt since he had taken her hand and coldly, indifferently, agreed to marry her to appease their parents.

'Molly? Molly!'

She gasped and looked back, her eyes widening when she saw Sherlock running after her, his long legs eating up the distance between them. She sped up, a sharp pain in her side, but she pressed on toward the refuge of the forest at the edge of the estate.

As soon as she broke through the trees, she broke left and wove through the brush, ignoring the pain in her feet.

'Stop, you foolish woman!' His baritone voice was close. Agitated and _very_ close.

Suddenly, a strong arm grasped her arm and jerked her to an abrupt halt, spinning her around and pinning her against a broad chest. She beat her fists against him and tried to pull away, but he gripped her wrists in his strong hands.

'Let go of me!' She cried out, resorting to kicking his shins. But all that did was send pain shooting up her own foot.

'Where in God's name are you going?' He demanded to know.

Refusing to look at him, Molly twisted her hands, but his grip, though not bruising, was too strong.

'You are to be my wife and I demand to know why you were running away from our wedding,' he snapped, pulling her closer until his face was nearly touching hers and she had no choice but to look at him. His eyes were narrowed in anger and _was that fear?_ and he smelled strongly of cigarette smoke. Foolish Molly! Obviously he'd been on the other side of the veranda, sneaking out for a smoke, when she'd escaped.

'There won't be a wedding,' she spat. 'You don't want me and I refuse to marry a man who won't ever love me back!'

Sherlock abruptly released her and stumbled back a step, as if she'd slapped him.

Panting, Molly brushed her falling hair from her face and wiped her eyes. His pale face blanched at the sight of her tears.

'You... you think I don't want you?' He frowned.

Barking a laugh, Molly wrapped her arms around her stomach and looked away. 'When have you given me any indication otherwise? You barely look at me, you _never_ speak to me unless it is to insult me or deduce me. Often those two things are one and the same.'

'Miss Hooper, I-'

'And yet, despite how little I matter to you, I seem to have fallen in love with you,' she continued with a heartbroken laugh. 'Foolish, I know, to love a man who boasts to the world of his own lack of heart. But I saw the goodness in you, the kindness, how you love your friends and family. Yet I will never be shown the same. In the end, I'm faced with marrying the man I love while knowing he will never love me back or running away, leaving my parents to disown me and society to spurn me.'

He gulped audibly. 'And you still chose to run away?'

Looking down, Molly said, 'I chose the only life where I could be free.'

Silence descended between them.

Molly's mind raced, wondering what would happen now. Would he force her back to the wedding? Would he let her go?

'I'm sorry.'

She looked up in surprise. He had stepped closer, just out of arm's reach. His face was a mix of sadness and confusion.

'I've never cared for someone as deeply as I care for you. I didn't know how to tell you. And, to be perfectly honest... I'm terrified of how fast and strong these blasted feelings are growing. In my foolishness, I pushed you away and hurt you.' He brushed his fingers lightly down her cheek and she closed her eyes at his touch. 'I'm so deeply sorry for making you think you aren't the one who matters most to me.'

She stared up at him in wonder, searching for any sign of deception. When she saw none, she breathed a shaky, 'Oh.'

He held out his hand and took a deep breath. 'Will you please return with me? I would very much like to marry you.'

Molly stared at his hand and bit her lip. Part of her wanted to grab it and race toward the priest. But the voices of doubt and hurt were still loud and protested against his sudden change.

She thought back on their brief courtship. Suddenly the little things she'd never considered at the time were so obvious: his eyebrow quirk when she made a less-than-ladylike joke was amusement not disdain, the way he'd quickly look away if she caught him staring... the beautiful, melodic song he always played on his violin when he came to visit was for _her_.

'Please, Molly?'

She looked up at him. He looked like a young boy, his curls disheveled and his eyes wide in fear and hope. A vicious part of her wanted to hurt him as he'd hurt her. But she quickly brushed it aside.

She hesitantly placed her hand in his. A soft smile creased his face and her heart skipped a beat at the sight.

He stepped into her space, cupped her cheek with his other hand and leaned down, his eyes flicking down to her mouth then back up, silently asking her permission.

Molly stood up on her tiptoes in answer, tilting her chin up.

And when he finally closed the distance between them, she felt that spark inside her ignite once more, bringing all the pieces she thought were gone back to life.


	2. A Bride Caught

**AN: Why, yes, I am a sucker for peer pressure. ;) Enjoy, my loves!**

Sherlock groaned and grimaced against the morning sunlight shining across his face, pulling him from the best sleep he'd had in... well, ever. He started to turn over, but found himself hindered by a soft weight on his chest.

Blinking his eyes open, he looked down his body and smiled.

Curled against him, Molly had one arm draped over his bare torso and the other flung above her head, Sherlock's arm wrapped under her and keeping her close to his side. Her brown hair was tangled and splayed around her face like a halo.

How had he been so blessed? Arranged marriages were a burden, if not a curse, promising a lifetime of disinterest and unhappiness. And yet he, Sherlock Holmes, a self-proclaimed heartless and unlovable man, had somehow found himself in a union with the one woman whose beautiful heart was big enough to love him despite, or perhaps because of, his flaws and thaw him from his cold loneliness.

When he'd caught her fleeing their wedding yesterday, fear like nothing he'd known struck him paralyzed. She was halfway across the lawn, her hair coming loose from its bridal do, before he managed to unstick his feet and race after her. He thanked every god ever known that he'd caught her before he lost her for good.

But her sadness had cut him deep. He had done that. He had let his fear hold him back and had broken her heart in the process.

And yet she'd forgiven him. She let him lead her back to the estate and to the festivities, ignoring the curious looks the dirtied hem of her ivory gown elicited. Her mother had tsked about her ruined hair and quickly set it to rights while Sherlock strode to the front of the church and the ceremony began just as the guests beginning to get restless.

But he cared naught for any of them because his focus was entirely on the woman walking toward him on her father's arm. The evidence of her tears were wiped away and the spark in her eyes had returned.

Her soft _I will_ as she slipped the wedding band onto his finger promising him that he was hers as much as she was his would forever be etched into his heart.

He grinned up at the ceiling, his cheeks aching and his heart bursting.

Absentmindedly, his fingers brushed along Molly's bare arm, slowly drawing her from her sleep. She smiled and snuggled deeper into his chest as she woke up. Her eyes opened, blinking away the lingering sleep, and she frowned in confusion.

'Good morning,' Sherlock rumbled, his voice raspy from sleep.

Her eyes snapped to his and immediately her confusion faded and a becoming blush stained her cheeks.

'Hi,' she whispered, suddenly shy.

Sherlock tightened his hold when she tried to move away and mock frowned. 'Where do you think you're going... _wife_?'

Molly's eyes widened and she looked up at him, trying to hide her pleased smile, but failing miserably.

'Absolutely nowhere,' she replied, lifting her chin in invitation. ' _Husband_.'

He grinned unabashedly and caught her lips, slowly rolling them over until she was under him, her arms wrapped around his neck.

'I love you,' he murmured against her lips.

She pulled away and dropped her head back against the pillow, an adoring smile on her face. Her hands trailed along his shoulders and when she cupped his cheek he turned his face into her touch, pressing a tender kiss to her palm.

'I love you, too.'


End file.
